(508) 563-5434.
Live Poetry Reading w/ Bob Zappacosta & Opening Reception Sat. April 2, 2-4 pm.
I based my painting on Rob's poem: Talking Sylvia
There was no
contrast between the skyline
and the vertical steel bars
that lined the Bourne Bridge.
The day was gray -
and a melancholy mist
hung over
the Cape Cod Canal
Now it takes a bit of talent to pour
a shot of Bushmills into one's coffee while driving around one of those
New England rotaries. Jack - was a pro at it.
He also was a pretty good painter when he had to be
and this was one of those times he
damn well had to be. The "check guage" light came on. Jack new he would
have to stop if he was going to make it to Wellesley and
get that contract. So he said his goodbyes to
Alexander Hamilton at the Shell station and drove
the rest of the way alone, sadly, without the company
of anyone famous enough to get
themselves into print. Wellesley, he mused to himself, isn't that
where Plath used to live?
Little did Jack know he would soon be painting
a seven room house
only three streets over
from 26 Elmwood Road.,
the place where she
first tried to commit
suicide.
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